


I Keep My Distance But You Still Catch My Eye

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Arrangements, Christmas, Falling In Love, Figuring shit out, Holidays, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Memories, Modern AU, Open Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Pop Star AU, Rimming, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Written for the Silverflint Holiday Challenge - Last ChristmasThis year's contender for the number one holiday hit on the radio is a cover of Last Christmas.Imagine Flint's surprise when he recognizes the singer and it starts dredging up the past.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	I Keep My Distance But You Still Catch My Eye

_Four weeks before Christmas._

Flint is working busily in the rooftop greenhouse, trying to make the most of the light before it fades. It's Saturday. He has the radio playing while he repots his plants. 

"And here on Radio 1, we have the privilege of playing for the first time, the strong contender for this holiday’s number one hit, Silver and the Storytellers with Last Christmas!"

The song starts playing and Flint freezes.

_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart_  
_But the very next day you gave it away_  
_This year, to save me from tears_  
_I'll give it to someone special_

He brushes the dirt off his hands and sits back on his heels, just listening to it. Silver's voice flows out of his radio like a river, flowing down to the waiting sea. It's the same old Christmas sentiment. Flint hadn't liked the song when it was first released back in 1984, and he doesn't like it now, but god it suits Silver's vocals.

The song ends and Flint leaves the plants and goes inside, down the stairs to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. He waits for the kettle to boil, still thinking about the song. Silver had always had a knack for turning the most absurd lyrics into sheer longing. A completely unnecessary talent, in Flint’s opinion, but extremely effective all the same.

* * *

Later he puts the radio back on while he’s cooking the lasagna and hears the song twice more. By the time Thomas gets home, Flint’s already opened the wine. He needed it.

“Smells good.” Thomas kisses him as he comes into the kitchen. 

“Felt like something easy.” Flint says, checking the timer on the oven. 

“I’m just going to pop to the shower.” Thomas says, squeezing his shoulder affectionately.

Flint pours himself another glass of wine and eyes the radio which is suspiciously silent now. 

* * *

"You know that new song that’s been on the radio," Flint begins over dinner, and then pauses, unsure of where exactly he's going with this. What exactly is he trying to tell Thomas? _The man I had the fling with while you were abroad is now a hit popstar?_

"You're going to have to be more specific, darling." Thomas says apologetically, "I'm afraid I couldn't tell you the last time I knew what was new on the radio. Except for that tall Irish fellow with the soft haunting voice. I know I he's got a recentish album out."

"Hozier." Flint says absently. "And yes, that was earlier this year at least. No, this is newer. It's a cover of that godawful Wham song."

"The one about the heart or whatever?" Thomas reaches for the wine to top off his glass.

"Exactly." Flint holds out his glass as well.

"Right." Thomas pours for both of them and then takes a sip of wine. "Well?"

"Well what?" 

"What about the song?"

"Oh, right." Flint takes a sip of wine. "You remember when you were working in Berlin?”

"Do I remember when we were apart for over a year?" Thomas repeats. "Yes, I do remember that as a matter of fact. It was three years ago, not twenty."

"Right." Flint says again. "Well. The musician who sings the cover." He clears his throat. "It's the one I slept with." Those words don’t do the relationship justice. Whatever their relationship was for those few months. A fling, an affair, something…But they are the most direct explanation, so he settles for that at least.

"Ah." Understanding dawns in Thomas's eyes. "He must be doing well if it's on the radio."

"It's in the contest to be number one." Flint informs him, feeling absurd for even knowing a detail like that.

"Let's toast him then." Thomas raises his glass. "To...” He waits patiently for Flint to supply the necessary information here.

"John." Flint clears his throat. "John Silver."

"To John Silver and his heart." Thomas says and Flint raises his glass as well, echoing him.

_To John Silver and his heart._

* * *

Flint’s in the supermarket buying salmon for dinner when the song comes on over the speakers. He drops the salmon unceremoniously in the basket and heads for the produce section, as though he can simply walk away from the song. It follows him from aisle to aisle. In the produce section Flint stands there, looking at the asparagus for a ridiculously long time because he can’t think of anything else other than Silver singing this year he gave it to someone else.

A memory appears and blurs. He’s in a hotel room, they’re drinking wine as Silver comes down from a show. He’s too wired, he’s electric and Flint’s just enjoying watching him. Where does this enthusiasm come from? How does he do it? Is it the age difference? Silver’s only a decade or so younger than him, but sometimes Flint feels ancient compared to him.

“That was fucking fantastic.” Silver slings back half his wine and turns to grin at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t think it works.” Silver points at him. “You’re like ‘why is he so fucking excited over this bullshit?’” He does a decent imitation of Flint.

Flint shakes his head, hiding a smile. “Quite the opposite.”

“Okay.” Silver swallows the other half of his wine. “Show me.”

“Show you.” Flint repeats, raising his eyebrows. What exactly is he showing off here?

Silver dances over to him, slinging his arms around Flint’s neck. “Show me.” He purrs, pressing his growing against Flint’s in pure intention.

Flint’s arms go around him automatically, while he tries not to spill his wine with the other. He looks down into Silver’s bright blue eyes, unable to keep from smiling at him.

“I’ll show you all right.”

They fuck there right against the wall, Silver groaning as he wraps his legs tighter and tighter around Flint’s hips, drawing him deeper inside until Flint can’t hold back any longer and he comes inside Silver with a gasp. He breathes in the scent of Silver’s hair, sea breeze shampoo and sweat and _Silver_ , as he pulls out of him. Silver sucks at his neck, licking him, marking him, not wanting to let him go. 

Flint blinks. He’s still in the produce aisle, just staring at the asparagus. He shakes his head, puts the asparagus in his basket and goes quickly down the aisle. He grabs some peas as well, as well as some mint for the sauce, and gets pasta for tomorrow, and two bottles of red wine and goes to stand in the checkout line.

* * *

By now he should be prepared for the song, Flint tells himself. At laest when he’s out in public. He doesn’t usually tend to listen to Christmas music, apart from a few instrumental stations. But the rest of London doesn’t agree with him. Christmas is everywhere, and there’s no escape.

Today he’s in a department store, selecting his traditional stocking gift for Thomas, a pair of boxers with a cheesy design on them. Past pairs have included hearts with arrows through them, musical notes, tiny anchors, small hammers that Flint insisted looked like gavels and Thomas had rolled his eyes and no, but he still wore them.

This year he’s contemplating a pair of bright red boxers with little white bows all over them, though they’re not the most memorable. Frankly, the selection is rather disappointing. 

The song starts and Flint grits his teeth. At the same time he spots a pair of tiny briefs that have a little lockbox, as least that’s what he thinks it’s supposed to look like, but mostly he thinks it looks like a cock cage and on the back, there’s a large pink tongue licking down the faint crease between the cheeks. Flint stares at them ( _Once bitten and twice as shy, I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye_ ) and all he can think is how Silver would totally wear those, how he would look in them, how his dick would look in them, how the bulge of his cock would fit that cage just perfectly, and how that tongue would slip delicately between his pert little butt cheeks.

He swallows, trying to ignore the arousal in his own jeans. Silver’s voice isn’t helping. _Tell me baby, do you recognize me? Well it’s been a_ _year, it doesn’t surprise me_. Flint adjusts his jacket to cover his crotch and walks out of the store without buying anything at all.

He remembers the first time he tasted Silver. Well, like that anyway.

He still wasn’t sure how he had fallen into whatever the fuck they were doing. Affair, fling, a bit of fun, all those absurd words that didn’t quite fit whatever was happening with them. But it wasn’t a relationship. He was with Thomas. They were established and that was that. No matter what they had agreed in the absence, nothing changed that. And Flint didn’t want it to change, he was happy in his life, in his work, with Thomas.

But that didn’t change the fact that he had enjoyed spending time with Silver. 

He had liked spending time in Silver’s hotel rooms, because of the state of undress that Silver would inevitably fall into. His blousy tops, slipping off his slender shoulder, the belt coming off and being looped around some piece of furniture, his jeans sliding down low on his hips until Flint could fit two fingers down the peek of his cleft, sneaking out of his jeans. He liked the way Silver lolled around on beds and chairs, counter-tops and doorjambs, whatever piece of furniture was handiest. He liked drunk Silver, and high Silver and none of that shit should have been exciting or fascinating or cute, or appealing, or sexy, and yet it was. At the time Flint had told himself it was because it’s temporary, if anyone had had to deal with this all the time, they’d get sick of it, or bored or fed up.

He’s not sure if he believes that, now or then, or ever.

He remembers pressing Silver down upon his belly on that pristine hotel bed, spreading his legs wide and licking his way down between those exquisite cheeks. Silver had squirmed and writhed and begged and Flint had kept going, tongue-fucking him until Silver came simply from that alone, and only then had Flint reached for a condom and slipped it on, thrusting inside him.

Silver had arched back against him, riding his dick until Flint had come as well. and then he'd pulled Flint upright, dragged off all his clothes and pulled him into the shower. 

Flint stalks along the Christmassy streets heading home, still thinking about those days and nights he had spent with Silver. Now…who’s with Silver these days? He had scores of fans waiting outside his shows every night. Flint had been amused at first. Now he thinks about how that number has no doubt grown after his tour in America.

* * *

He gets home and heads for the shower. They have a dinner engagement this evening and he has to shower now so Thomas can soon as he gets home. 

He steps under the spray, letting the heat of the water relax him after being out in the cold December air. As he closes his eyes though, Flint just thinks of Silver more. The first time Silver sucked him off backstage after a show. The time they had sex in the empty arena. 

All these memories flood back to him in a rush of desire. With a groan Flint leans his forehead against the shower wall. He remembers how it felt to have his body and Silver’s so close together it was like there was no distance at all between them. Unplanned, almost unconsciously, his hand slides down between his legs to wrap around his cock. 

_Silver tossing his head back as he hits the high notes, the sweat rippling down his chest. Silver grinning at Flint over drinks, leaning on the bar as he rubs his foot along the inside of Flint’s ankle. Silver flirting madly with someone from some fucking magazine to tease him. (It had worked, though Flint doesn’t like to remember that bit. He had been so fucking jealous that the moment Silver was done Flint had tugged him into an alcove at the venue and had his revenge.) Silver sinking to his knees and kissing his way up Flint’s thighs. Silver’s mouth…_

Flint finishes with a gasp and leans back, panting. Who does Silver have in his life now? Does he have boyfriends, girlfriends? Lovers, flings...for one moment he wonders if Silver's married...but, no, he can't be...can he?

He gets out of the shower and pours himself a glass of wine, but he can't stop remembering Silver. The ache spreading through him is agonizing. He hasn't thought about Silver in so long and now, now he can't believe he ever stopped. Not that he ever truly stopped. Not really. 

* * *

It's a week later that he sees Silver on the side of a bus. This time Flint is not remotely prepared for it, he's just waiting to cross the road, texting his editor about the schedule for a story later in the week, when the bus pulls up alongside him and there Silver is, staring right at him.

Flint feels his heart catch. It's an excellent good shot of Silver. He's wearing a black jacket and a red scarf, and his hair is longer, it's brushed back behind one ear and there's a tug of something in Flint's gut as he looks at him. It's wistful. It's longing. It adds something to that goddamn song and he fucking hates it. If Silver had been smiling his usual smirk, or any of his usual expressions, it wouldn't have been nearly so arresting, or not in the same way anyway. This look is just pure pining as though Silver’s been waiting for you to look up and notice him, to truly see that he's there.

Flint's so caught up in staring at the bus that he doesn't even notice the light changing until the throng around him starts moving and he's carried away from the bus with the crowd. When he looks back over his shoulder, which is ridiculous because it's not as though it's actually Silver there, the bus is already gone.

Flint gets home and makes a cup of tea. He cooks pasta absently, switching on the radio and listening to six o’clock news while he does. For a while he thinks about work and the story he has due in two days and how he should really plan extra meals so Thomas has something to eat if he gets home earlier those nights, but then he decides Thomas can get a takeway if he feels like it, and then he dimly hears the announcer talking about something moving up the charts and there's the song again.

Flint leans back against the counter and lets himself listen, remembering that shot of Silver on the bus. Who let him take that? Who got him to pose like that? Was he seeing them? Were they intimate? A photographer would be a perfect companion for Silver, if he’s honest. Someone who can capture all those delicate, private moments with Silver. 

* * *

When Thomas gets home later that evening, he's shivering as he comes in through that door. “Brrr, the chill is ridiculous.” He hangs up his coat in the hall, “I heard that song again while I was in Marks and Spencer’s."

"It's everywhere." Flint says morosely. "Hard to avoid it."

"While the lyrics definitely leave something to be desired," Thomas says carefully, “He does sing it remarkably well."

"Yes." Flint says after a moment. That's the truth. It won't kill him to admit that much. Since Silver imbues the song with such longing and wistfulness and regret, it's even harder to listen to than the original which was just plain annoying.

Thomas glances at him as he goes into the kitchen to fix something to eat. “Have you heard from Silver at all since he's been in London?"

"No." Flint heads into the living room. He pours himself a drink before he settles down into an armchair with a book.

"Really?" Thomas sounds surprised as he sticks his head into the room to look at him. “Nothing?”

"I don't think it's that surprising really." Flint takes a sip of his drink.

"I just thought..." Thomas gives a little shrug. "He might have gotten in touch, that's all." He goes back to bustling around in the kitchen before coming into the living room with a plate of pasta. "You should go see him."

"Why?" Flint stares at him. 

"Surely you want to." Thomas exclaims. 

"I..." Flint doesn't know how to answer that. He sits back in his chair, takes a sip of whiskey. "Do you think it's a good idea?”

"Why not? A chance to catch up." Thomas says. “Coffee?”

“Yes.” Flint says absently.

* * *

There's more to it than that, in Flint's opinion but then he and Thomas have never been the jealous sort. Or rather, it never mattered if Thomas had lunch with an old partner. He's living with Flint after all. He comes home to Flint. He’s with Flint.

After all, it was Thomas's suggestion that they see other people while he was working abroad. Flint can't forget that either. He knows Thomas had seen people too while in Berlin, but none of those had really registered as much, in Flint's opinion, apart from his relationship with a fellow aid worker. Flint had always thought if she were in London, things might be different, but here they are. 

Here they are with Silver here in London. Silver singing that blasted song all over the radio. Silver and his goddamn heart. 

It would be foolish to go and see him. Wouldn't it? Surely Silver doesn't expect him to? And yet they had exchanged that flippant sort of farewells at the time. _If you're ever back in London, look me up, etc._

Flint sighs and leans back against his armchair looking out at the dark December night. He doesn't want to admit the leap of excitement in his gut at the thought of actually seeing Silver again. The poster on the side of the bus couldn't possibly do him justice. 

* * *

It’s not hard to find out which hotel Silver’s staying. Flint’s journal contacts might not be musical these days, but there’s enough crossover that he easily procures the information. 

It’s easy to take a taxi there the next evening after work. He texts Thomas _Taking your advice, going to see Silver Xx_ and gets a thumbs up emoji in response. Flint leans back in the taxi and watches the streets pass by.

It’s not easy to knock on the door. At that point Flint finds himself faltering, abruptly unsure of everything that has led him here to this moment. It’s been three years. Silver and he haven’t even talked. Why on earth does he think Silver would want to see him now? 

Because he’s here in London. Because he sang that song. Somehow Flint knows that means something.

Flint raises his hand and knocks, three quick raps, and then winces at the sharpness of it. He’s not demanding anything here. He simply wants to see Silver, that’s all. 

The door opens and a young black woman stands there, looking at him. “Yes?”

“I…” Flint falters again at the sight of her. Of course, Silver’s with someone. Of course, he is. Why the fuck would Flint think he was alone? “Sorry, wrong room.”

He turns and starts walking away down the hall even as he hears another voice in the room. “Who was that?”

Flint barely pauses, and then, simply keeps going. Because those three words, hearing Silver’s voice is enough to make him realize that if he doesn’t get out of here now, he’s sunk.

“Flint?”

But now he has to stop. 

So he does, and turns. 

There standing in the doorway is Silver, casual in a pair of jeans and a black shirt, partially unbuttoned at the neck. Flint licks his lips, trying not to stare at him as he walks back towards Silver. Silver’s hair is longer now, just slightly. Enough that Flint’s not sure how it would feel in his grasp, and it feels like a physical blow, to realize his memory is no longer true.

“Were you really just going to leave?” Silver says, just looking at him. He’s barefoot. Flint can’t get over that either. 

Flint shrugs. “You seemed busy.” It’s a poor excuse and he doesn’t know why he’s saying it. He’s the one with the partner after all. He has no right to be jealous of who Silver’s with, or has been with or will be with in the future. And yet he is, awfully, painfully jealous.

“Busy.” Silver repeats like he doesn’t understand the meaning of the word. “What gives you that idea?”

Has he always been this dim? Surely Flint wouldn’t have been attracted to him if he were.

“You know. The woman who answered the door.” He glances at the elevator, still hoping for an escape. It was a mistake to have come. Why had he come? Why had Thomas let him?

“You mean Madi?” Silver’s face crinkles in confusion and then clears. “Oh, we’re not. I mean, well not anymore. She's in my band.”

That’s enough for Flint. He turns to head for the elevator again.

“Are you seriously just going when you’re the one who’s practically married?” Silver hisses at him.

Flint turns abruptly. “How do you know that?”

Silver shoves his hands in his pockets. “I kept track of you.”

Flint stares at him. “You kept track of me? You went on tour!”

“Yeah, so.” Silver shrugs. “I was always going to come back.”

This is news to Flint. “You never said.” He draws a little closer again. 

Silver shrugs again. “You weren’t going to leave him obviously.”

“No.”

Silver just nods. They’re standing much closer now and it’s been too long since Flint saw him, since he touched him. He wants to, needs to touch Silver.

“Please, come in and we can talk.” Silver says very softly.

“All right.” Flint says.

They go back into the suite where Madi is looking at her phone and checking the contents of her purse. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.” She glances up at Flint and at Silver with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, soonish.”

She hangs up and says. “That was Max. They’re all meeting at the club.” She pauses, eyes still going back and forth between Flint and Silver.

“You go on.” Silver murmurs, his eyes still on Flint.

“If you’re sure.” Madi says.

“Yeah.” Silver says, and then, gesturing to Flint. “Madi, this is Flint.” 

“Oh.” Madi says. As though by introducing him, Silver’s explained everything about the situation, and maybe he has. Maybe Silver’s told her everything.

Finally she does go, grabbing a coat and sending one last long at Silver before she goes out the door.

They’re alone in the hotel room now. Flint can hear the distance ding of the elevator. His coat feels too heavy in the warm room, but he can’t for the life of him, take it off. It would feel like a statement of intent.

“Drink?” Silver says at last and Flint nods. He watches Silver pad across the hotel carpet in his bare feet, pouring them both a whiskey.

Silver brings it over to him and Flint takes it. There’s no toast, no speech about reunions, long lost anything. They both drink and look at each other in silence. 

“Your hair’s longer.” Flint says stupidly.

Silver shrugs, laughing a little. “I just cut it actually.” 

Flint can’t breathe. He sets his whiskey down and shrugs off his coat abruptly. When he looks back at Silver, Silver’s just standing there, looking at him. The look on his face is one dearly familiar to Flint and there’s only one thing he can do when Silver looks at him like that. So Flint does it. 

He closes the distance between them, taking Silver in his arms and kissing him.

* * *

Somehow they’re in the bedroom. Flint has no idea how he’s capable of thought, now that he’s finally got Silver here again. His hands on Silver’s body, Silver’s mouth on his. Silver’s breath warm on his skin. Flint sucks on Silver’s tongue, eliciting the most delightful moan forth from him, and curses all the days that have passed since he’s last touched Silver. 

They hit the bed and Flint gets the rest of Silver’s shirt unbuttoned, pulling it back and revealing that tan, lithe chest. And this, this he remembers, and this his hands still know, even if Silver’s curls feel new under his touch.

He groans as Silver rolls them over so he’s straddling Flint, grinding against Flint in that wonderfully familiar way. He feels the thick weight of Silver’s cock through his jeans pressing against him and Flint leans up to suck at his neck.

His hand is down Silver’s pants when his phone buzzes and Flint freezes, even as his hand closes over Silver's length.

Silver draws back a little. “Do you need to take that?”

“I….” Flint breaks off, breathing heavily. The text alert brought him back to his senses. What is he doing here? He’d told Thomas that he thought about talking with Silver, that he was going to see him. He’d never intended… No, that’s a lie, he’s not sure what he imagined happening but he had thought, deep down, in his heart of hearts, he’d thought there was still something between the two of them. And now he knows he’s right. And he can’t.

“I can’t do this.” He murmurs, pulling his hand out of Silver's pants.

Silver blinks, turning his head to look at him. “What?”

“I just...” Flint rolls over to the side of the bed and sits up. “I don’t know…” _I don’t know what I was thinking,_ but he hadn’t been thinking that was the problem. He’d been remembering and that’s what all of this was, just a memory. A time when he had been reckless and careless and survived. But that had been because he had put it behind him, and Thomas and he had stayed together, no, not stayed, that had never been a question of whether that was even a possibility. 

But he hadn’t left Silver is what it came down to in the end. Silver had walked away him, effectively taking the decision out of his hands, so that he never even had to go beyond the slightest possibility of imagining the situation. Even now Flint doesn’t know what he would have done. It’s tempting to stay, to be here with Silver, but he can’t without discussing what that means with Thomas. 

“I can’t.” He repeats.

He moves off the bed and stands. For a moment he thinks about trying to explain but when he glances down at Silver, Silver’s pulling his jeans back on and shrugging his shirt back over his shoulders, like nothing ever even happened.

“You better go then.” His voice is curiously neutral and Flint hesitates again, but then he goes, collecting his coat and scarf from where they had been strewn in the front room. He stands there a moment but Silver’s stayed in the bedroom, so Flint goes out the door and heads down the hall.

What the hell had he been thinking? 

He takes a bus to the end of the high street and walks the last few blocks to their house. By the time he gets there, it’s late. Flint stops and looks up at it, wondering whether he’d made a mistake in leaving or in coming home. He has no idea at the moment.

When he goes inside the house is dark and Thomas is already in bed, reading. He looks up, a question on his lips at Flint’s entrance. 

“Well?” He asks. “How did it go?”

Flint gives a little shrug. “It was good to see him again.” That’s all he can say now that he’s back here in their bedroom. It's not a lie. He gets into his pajamas and gets into bed next to Thomas.

“Do you want to –“ Thomas starts and Flint shakes his head. 

“You can keep reading.” He says, “It’s all right.” He puts an arm over Thomas’s chest and settles down, lying there in the warmth and feeling like shit for wanting to be somewhere else at the same time.

* * *

The next morning is Christmas Eve. Flint makes coffee and watches the first fall of snow drifting down across the back garden, scattering across the bushes and trees. He’s feeling decidedly out of sorts for a Christmas Eve morning. Thomas is opening Christmas cards and hanging them up, reading them aloud as he does. 

Flint takes a sip of coffee and goes to stand in the doorway, watching him. He watches Thomas in his pajamas and bathrobe, humming contentedly under his breath as he moves around, sticking p cards. It takes Flint a moment to recognize the tune. It's Last Christmas. He sighs, about to go back to the kitchen when there's a knock at the front door.

Flint glances at it in surprise. Who the heck is that? They're not expecting any guests this Christmas.

“Can’t be the postman. Too early.” Thomas murmurs without looking up from his project. “Go and see who it is, hmm, darling?”

“All right.” Flint sets his mug down and goes to the door. 

He opens it, and stops, aware suddenly that he's just in his pajamas and sweater.

Silver’s there on his doorstep, shivering faintly in his coat and scarf as he looks up at Flint. The snow is falling upon his dark hair. There are shadows under his eyes as though he hasn't slept. 

"Here's the thing," Silver says. "I know... know it was three years ago, and I know it doesn't matter," There's a faint hitch in his breath as his eyes dart quickly over Flint's shoulder, and Flint's aware abruptly that Thomas has joined them. "And I know that the two of you are together." He takes a deep breath, and Flint watches it ghost away in the chill December air. "But I can't...go another three years without saying this. Without telling you that I've thought about you every single day since we said goodbye. Even when I didn't want to be thinking about you, I thought about you, and I missed you. And I so nearly called you...so many times." His voice catches. "Because, stupid as it is, I love you."

Flint just stares at him. "What?"

"I love you." Silver says softly. "I told you, I know it doesn't matter." He shrugs, glancing down for a moment before he looks up at Flint one last time. "But I needed to say it." He turns and walks off down the pavement towards the street. The snow is falling heavier now. And all Flint can do is stand there and watch him go. 


End file.
